Frozen Hands
by ylana
Summary: How did Hatori feel when he had to erase the children's memories? Oneshot. Mabudachi-trio friendship fic.


**Disclaimer: **Fruits Basket idea and characters belong to the wonderful Natsuki Takaya. Not to me. And I'm not making any money with this.

_It's not that Hatori himself is a bad person or anything… but still: I told you how when I was young, I transformed in front of all those other children. All of their memories had to be erased and the person responsible for that – that person was Hatori._

Yuki, Fruits Basket Anime, ep. 07

**Frozen Hands**

His father's hands were always cold. Not only when he'd gone out without gloves in winter, or when he'd washed his hands with cold water; but always. His mother sometimes joked about it, calling his father "Icefingers". His father never joined in the laughter.

Hatori himself never thought much about the matter. Until he was seventeen and discovered the reason why his father's hands were cold.

* * *

"Ha-san."

Hatori looked up from the medical book he was reading and over at his cousin. Shigure's eyes were twinkling with amusement and tenderness. "Look at Aya," he whispered.

Hatori followed his gaze. Ayame was curled up in an armchair, fast asleep. The sketchpad he'd been doodling on a minute ago had fallen from his hands; his shoulder-length silver hair was fanned out around his head like a halo. His features were relaxed. Under Hatori's fascinated eyes, his lips twitched upwards in a tiny smile, as if he was having a pleasant dream. Hatori looked at Shigure again and returned his smile. To see the lively snake so peaceful and calm: A rare occurrence for sure!

It was moments like this that Hatori loved most: When he could actually be quiet with his two best friends. It wasn't that Hatori didn't like going out with the two at all; he did like it. But most of the time when Shigure and Ayame were in the same place, they were constantly talking, and laughing, and flirting, and running around in a way that made Hatori dizzy. They often seemed to have an almost intoxicating effect on each other; goading one another into behaving crazier and more reckless the longer they were together. Hatori often felt obliged to act as the voice of reason in their unusual trio, a role he was perfectly suited for, but that nevertheless could make him feel annoyed and tired at times.

But now Ayame was asleep in his armchair, and Shigure was stretched out on the carpet in front of the fireplace, his nose buried in a book. And Hatori was sitting behind the desk, able to concentrate on his studies. They had only one year of high school left; and Hatori was determined to enter medical school with a head start.

However, the peaceful moment was interrupted when the door opened and Hatori's father burst into the room. Hatori knew at once from his father's tight expression that something bad had happened.

"Hatori. You need to come with me. Akito requests your presence."

"Is something wrong with Akito, Doc?" Shigure asked, sitting up with a small frown on his face.

"No," Dr. Souma said curtly. "Hatori…"

Hatori hastily market the page where he'd stopped reading with a scrap of paper and stood up to follow his father out of the room, mouthing a silent _I'll tell you later_ in Shigure's direction. The last thing he saw of his friends was Ayame stirring in his chair and stretching his arms over his head with a huge yawn.

* * *

"There's been something of an incident." Dr. Souma hurried down the corridor without looking at his son. "Akito believes this is a good time for you to test your abilities."

Hatori's mouth suddenly went very, very dry. _His abilities…_

He'd known this day would come ever since his father had first shown him the secret hypnosis technique that had been passed down in their family for generations. But he hadn't expected it to come so soon.

His uneasiness turned into outright horror when they entered one of the guest-salons and he saw the scenario that was played out there. Akito was seated on a low couch at one side of the room. Her posture was passive, but her face was full of cold fury. Hatori's younger cousin Yuki cowered next to Akito, his gaze directed towards his hands, which were curled into tiny fists in his lap.

And on the other side of the room were his soon-to-be victims, huddled up close to each other on the floor: They were children. About half a dozen young children, no older than maybe seven or eight years. Yuki's age. Hatori looked at his little cousin again, and this time Yuki lifted his head and returned Hatori's gaze. Hatori saw the tear stains on his face, saw guilt and fear and a desperate plea in his eyes. And he understood what must have happened. And what Akito was going to ask of him.

Dr. Souma cleared his throat. "It isn't necessary for Hatori to do this," he said. "I can-"

"No!" Akito interrupted. "I have decided that he will take over this particular duty from now on."

Dr. Souma didn't protest. He slowly moved to sit on the floor beside Akito's couch. His eyes met with Hatori's, and there was an expression in them Hatori couldn't quite read for a second. Then he realized it was relief. And guilt for being relieved.

With some effort, he broke eye-contact with his father and looked briefly towards the children, before turning to face Akito again.

"You will erase from their memories any knowledge about the curse, and about Yuki," the young family head ordered in a cold voice. "They are not to remember him at all!"

Did she have the slightest idea what she was asking of him?

"You will also erase their memory of what has happened to them in this house. Their memories of ever having been in contact with the Souma family."

He looked at her, in the men's kimono and with the short cropped hair. She seemed much older than the child she actually still should have been.

He bowed.

"As you wish, Akito-san."

His own voice sounded like a stranger's to his ears. He felt strangely detached from the whole situation, as if he was watching all this happen to somebody else.

He forced himself to walk over to the first of the children. It was a little girl who stared up at him with large, terrified eyes.

"You don't have to be afraid," the stranger that was himself told the little girl. "It won't hurt you."

Was that really true? Was it really painless? Of course, he had used his powers before; but he'd only played around with them, tested out what he _might_ be able to do. And it was something else if you touched your best friend's minds, on their prompting and with their consent. He had no idea what to expect of this now.

He placed a hand over the girls closed eyes. She flinched under his touch, but seemed too scared to protest. Hatori felt her lashes flutter nervously against the palm of his hand.

Suddenly it wasn't happening to a stranger any more. The reality of what he was about to do hit home like a painful, sickening blow to the stomach. For a moment he was sure that he was going to be sick. He gasped for air; realizing after a few seconds that his own, painful breath matched the rapid, shallow rhythm of the girl's breathing. There was no turning back now. He forgot about his father, about Yuki, about Akito. He concentrated and dived into the girl's mind…

* * *

Half an hour later, it was all over.

Hatori stumbled out of the room and onto the porch, where he gripped one of the wooden pillars that carried the house's roof in order to stop himself from falling. He felt worse than ever before in his entire life!

The children's memories were swirling through his mind; a jumbled mess, mixed up and confused, like the shards of a broken mirror that reflected what once was, and could never be again: Fear at being caught and shepherded into the strange, dark house by Akito's servants. Innocent amazement at Yuki's transformation. The simple joy of playing in the sunlit garden. The memory shards spun through his mind, the sharp edges cutting into his sanity.

It was so _wrong_ to have those memories, to feel their feelings. It made him feel dirty; as if he'd violated something sacred and pure…

A sudden surge of nausea forced him to his knees. He pressed a trembling hand against his mouth and swallowed hard to force down the bile that was rising from his stomach. He suddenly realized how cold he was; that his whole body was shivering in spite of the bright midday sun lighting the courtyard. His hands were hurting, and at the same time felt numb – the way they would get in winter, after an hour or so of rolling snowballs without wearing gloves. A memory sprung to the forefront of his mind: an image of Shigure and Ayame, rolling down a snow-covered hill. The happy memory brought tears to his eyes and he tried to ball his hands into fists, but found that they were too stiff to move them properly. It was as if something in the children's subconscious had reacted to the violation: something cold and angry, that had risen up from the depth of their minds and seeped into his hands and into his heart… Shivering from cold and dizziness, he bent over, until his forehead rested against the wooden boards of the porch.

"Hatori…"

A very quiet voice startled him, and he sat up rapidly, the movement causing another surge of nausea. He swallowed a few times and blinked to clear his blurred vision. Then he raised an arm, using his sleeve to wipe away the tears that were tickling down his cheeks, before he finally looked at the small figure huddled in the doorway, staring at him with too large, violet eyes.

Yuki did not say anything. It wasn't necessary. The wounded expression on his face was a stronger accusation than a thousand words could have been. Hatori wanted to say: _I'm sorry_. And: _It's going to be alright_. But he couldn't. Because it wasn't going to be alright; and sorry wasn't enough.

After a few seconds of silently staring at each other, Yuki walked up to Hatori, dropped to the floor beside him and pressed his forehead against Hatori's knee. It was a wordless gesture of pain and helplessness, a plea for help that Hatori didn't know how to give, and an offering of trust that he didn't deserve. He longed to reach out to his young cousin, to somehow make it all better, but it wasn't possible.

The door opened again and Akito stepped out onto the porch. Yuki jumped up, and Hatori also scrambled to his feet, holding on to the wooden pillar for balance.

"Come inside, Yuki," Akito commanded, her voice still cold and emotionless.

"What… what will happen to my friends, now?" Yuki asked timidly.

"The servants will drop them off at the local park, while they are still unconscious. They can go home from there. And they are not your friends any more!" Akito's voice became impatient. "Now, go inside!"

Yuki didn't resist. Hatori knew he should say something. Whatever Akito had in store for Yuki, it could not be good. He should step in, before Yuki got even more hurt than he already was. But he simply couldn't find the strength to go against Akito now…

Akito started to follow Yuki into the house, but at the door she turned back. She seemed to guess what was going on in Hatori's head; for the corner of her mouth turned upwards in an ugly, triumphant smile.

"You are as cold as snow, Hatori."

Then she was gone.

* * *

Like a sleepwalker, he found his way to his parent's house. His father caught up with him when he let himself in through the front door.

"Hatori," Dr. Souma said, reaching out a consoling hand towards his son. Hatori sidestepped him to avoid his touch and began climbing the stairs towards his bedroom. He heard his father follow him up the stairs, but ignored him. Only when he was about to enter his room, his father spoke up again.

"I know it is hard."

Hatori waited, his hand on the doorknob.

"The secret has to be protected. We have to do whatever is necessary to insure it remains a secret." Dr. Souma tentatively laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "The first time is the most disturbing. You will get used to it."

"I want to sleep," Hatori said, without looking at his father. He stepped through the door, closed it behind him and turned the key.

* * *

The late afternoon sun was slowly sinking toward the horizon, bathing Hatori's room in the golden glow of its last glorious rays. Hatori was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the light go dimmer and the shadows grow longer. His parents had come to his door several times, knocking and calling his name, but he had ignored them. He didn't want to see anybody, talk to anybody… He wished the world would just stop spinning, so he could get some rest…

* * *

Hatori sighed. He couldn't lie around like this forever. He was the responsible one. The one who looked out for the others. The one always in control. Things weren't supposed to get to him like this.

It took all his strength to get up from the bed and walk the few steps over to his desk, where he collapsed on the chair.

His hands still numb with cold, he searched through the drawers until he found the packet of cigarettes Shigure had given him last weekend to bribe him into coming to a party with the rest of the Mabudachi-Trio. How long ago that seemed!

Hatori shoved a cigarette between his lips and fumbled a match out of the box. But instead of lighting the cigarette with it, he just watched the small flame on the match grow bigger and eat its way through the little piece of wood, coming closer and closer to his fingers.

"Fire is hot," Hatori thought. The words ran through his head like a mantra. "Fire is hot."

But when the flame finally touched his fingertips, he felt just the searing pain and no heat at all.

He dropped the match and watched it burn a black mark into the carpet before it went out. Even then he remained sitting hunched over, staring at the black spot, unable to find the energy to move.

There were low, grinding sounds coming from the door, but Hatori paid them no heed until he heard something heavy fall to the floor _inside_ his room with a loud thud.

He turned around in his chair. The key had fallen from its place in the keyhole and was lying on the floor a short distance away.

With another grinding sound, the door opened and Shigure walked in, shoving a piece of wire back into his pocket.

"Hello, Ha-san," he said casually, as if he'd not just broken into his friend's room.

"I want to be left alone."

"Seriously? I hadn't noticed!" Shigure's voice was innocent, but there was mockery dancing in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" His gaze travelled from Hatori's pale face over his blackened fingertips to the little pile of ashes on the floor.

"Nee, nee. Ha-san has been playing with fire!"

Hatori wanted to tell him to go to hell; but instead he watched silently as Shigure walked up to the desk, bent down to pick up the burned-out match and throw it into the wastebasket, then wiped the stain on the carpet with his bare foot.

Not being able to erase it completely, Shigure shrugged and sat on the desk, left foot resting on Hatori's knee, right one dangling in the air.

"Akito told me what happened," he said matter-of-factly. Hatori didn't answer. His mind registered numbly that Shigure was probably the only family member who'd go to Akito for information. Also the only one who'd actually get an answer from her.

Shigure fumbled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the ashes from Hatori's fingertips. Afterwards, he got out a new match and lit Hatori's cigarette with slow, deliberate movements. He waved the match through the air to extinguish the flame before it could burn _his_ fingers, then let it follow its brother into the wastebasket.

Hatori took a deep drag on the cigarette, imagining the nicotine rush into his bloodstream to soothe his rustled nerves.

He made a feeble gesture towards the packet of cigarettes, offering them to Shigure.

Shigure shook his head. He took Hatori's cold hands into his own warm ones and began gently massaging them, rubbing the cold away. His hands were slightly smaller than Hatori's. Slender hands with long, sensitive fingers. Writer's hands – artist's hands.

"I am glad you have that power," Shigure said after a long period of silence.

Hatori merely looked at him, still not saying anything.

"I know it is a burden for you, and always will be. Being able to erase somebody else's memories. It is a frightening ability." Shigure briefly met his gaze, then his eyes concentrated on the massage again. "Therefore I am glad that you are the one to wield this power. Not somebody like Aya; or – God forbid! – myself. With you we can be sure that you will never take advantage of it."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in my personality," Hatori said, not because he really wanted to know, but just to say something, anything…

"I am seldom mistaken in my judgement of other persons," Shigure replied.

Feeling was slowly coming back into Hatori's hands, and finally, with a last comforting squeeze, Shigure let them go.

Hatori ground his cigarette into the ashtray. Mechanically, he picked up Shigure's handkerchief to wipe away some small flakes of ash that had fallen on the surface of the desk.

His head was still spinning, but not as badly as before. He felt very tired now. Wrapping his hands around Shigure's left ankle, he pressed his forehead against his knee; in much the same fashion as Yuki had pressed his forehead against Hatori's knee a few hours before, and closed his eyes. He felt Shigure's fingers stroke gently over his neck, heard his low sigh and briefly felt his warm breath on his face as Shigure rested his own forehead against the top of Hatori's head.

Hatori didn't know how long they stayed like this. It might have been minutes, or hours. Shigure couldn't give any real comfort. But he was _there_; and his presence meant more to Hatori than he himself could have imagined only a day ago, more than he would ever admit to.

They only stirred from their position when the door opened again.

Ayame appeared, looking like an angel with his silver hair and elaborate clothing, a full tray in his hands.

"Tea, anyone?"

* * *

About a year later, when they graduated from Highschool and Hatori's father shook his son's hand to congratulate him on his success, Hatori noticed for the first time that his father's hands felt warm.

Hatori never wore gloves in winter now. They didn't make any difference to him anyway.

* * *

The End 


End file.
